| I’m not shit, I’m champagne
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| Let’s all go home, kill ourselves and our radios
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| Where’s my head? |
| This isn’t mine
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| Nobody loves a thing everyone is fucking crazy
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| In control, it’s not my fault
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| They’ll be sorry once I skin them
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| Scared to life, a painless death
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| Make sure she knows I love her right before she floats away
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| I can’t hear you, screams too loud
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| All my ideas become perfect little blind spots
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| Fold me in, tucked away
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| I’m starting to think I never learn what I need to learn
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| All things pass, we bruise skin
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| Holding onto things that we shouldn’t be allowed to keep
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| Make them proud, dredged in guilt
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| Call me when the miracle reduces to coincidence
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| My casted wings are almost stubs now
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| I can’t feel a thing, just like you promised
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| I was always bad at being good
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| I was always bad at being good
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| I was always bad
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| There’s no hell more harsh than a memory
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| There’s no home more hell than an empty nest
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| Winter takes the warm away, spring takes the cold away
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| Summer takes the rain away and fall took away my friend
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| I believe there’s never a place better than right where you are
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| Although imagining an afterlife can tend to mend a broken heart
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| And with someone dead, it’s a way of coping with loss
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| But I don’t need you out there somewhere if I have you in my thoughts
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| I don’t envy anyone in a position where they’re forced to choose
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| Pull the plug or not I can’t tell if this is for me or you
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| I mean I know you’re sick, tired, and confused
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| But sometimes letting the tired go to sleep is the best thing to do
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| I will hold your head while the doctor sticks the needle in
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| I’ll always remember our companionship and what it meant
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| And on Sunday, October the 5th, you took your last breath
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| And you will be missed
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| My casted wings are almost stubs now |